


matryoshka

by Yasuo_Karada



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Communication, Depression, Domestic, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Katsuki Yuuri, Trans Character, Trans Katsuki Yuuri, dissociating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9581786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasuo_Karada/pseuds/Yasuo_Karada
Summary: Underneath all of the ideals, all of the expectations, there's a person, just as real as you or me.





	1. anchor

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the mental illnesses that Viktor and Yuuri have demonstrated or at least implied to have had, and I wanted it to feel real so these are written during my own bouts with anxiety or depression. It's therapeutic to me to write out my emotions like this, and I hope it's able to convey what it's like to have these mental illnesses or even be therapeutic for others.
> 
> EDIT: I changed the name to 'matryoshka' because I wanted to include other things beyond mental illness, such as gender, sexuality, gender roles, etc.

Some days were better than others.

Most of them, you could go out into the world with a mask long perfected -- so perfect, in fact, sometimes you forget you're even wearing it. You perform your role flawlessly and the audience -- the immediate world around you, your fans, your colleagues, even your now-fiancé at one point -- eats it all up, and the relief of being home alone with nobody else but yourself and your dog used to be borderline euphoric. Sometimes, the mask would crack, and the world and everything in it would come flooding your sight and your lungs and you would drown under the sudden weight of it all. The mask would stay on, however chipped it would become, until you went home to unload.

You willingly gave up the luxury of such a routine when Yuuri came into your life.

It's silly, thinking about it during periods of lucidity, how you let another person rob you of your safe space. It's silly because it's the exact _opposite_ of what it really is. Yuuri understands better than anybody you know the importance of hiding the internal battle with oneself, and he has become more aware of the signs to look for and how to approach you; really, being at home with Yuuri is probably the safest place _to_ be.

(Still hasn't stopped you from trying to add a second layer to hide the first, though.)

(Or a third when he started seeing through _that_ one.)

Some days were better than others.

This was not one of them.

How long it's been since first waking up, it's hard to tell. You've been staring idly at the bedroom wall since you first opened your eyes, on your side with your right arm stretched out in front of you and your body curved in somewhat of a fetal position under the sheets. The sun is poking through the curtains and Yuuri was already awake and in the kitchen making breakfast, the clatter of pans and scent of what smells like pancakes and bacon all fading out into white noise as your focus shifts from the wall to...nothing. Just staring off into space. Letting your mind fill with air as your body sinks with the lead in your joints.

You don't register Yuuri speaking to you through the noise until there's a cautious knock at the open door. "...tya?"

"Hm?" You don't move.

"Breakfast is on the table. I'm...kind of surprised to see you still in bed. Usually you're up by now."

"Hm." That hum low in your throat is all you seem to manage at the moment.

There's a pause, and at first you think he's gone back to the kitchen (but you know Yuuri, and you know logically that he's still there standing in the doorframe, probably staring at you, you can feel his gaze poring into the back of your head). The silence is broken with the soft _patpatpat_ of feet approaching precariously. You see him kneel in front of you to meet you at eye-level, but your mind doesn't register it. "Vitya...?"

Another noncommittal grunt. You're not sure you'll be up for extensive conversation but the least you can do is acknowledge that your fiancé is speaking to you.

His hand reaches out to hold yours. His thumb rubs soothingly against the back of your hand. "What's wrong?"

Nothing, logically speaking. You have a nice apartment that you share with your precious dog and beloved husband-to-be who treats you so, _so_ good, who moved with you from his comfortable family inn in Japan _all the way to Russia_ , you no longer have the ill-forgotten stress of managing finances looming over you anymore, you're a world renowned, professional athlete that took the figure skating world by storm, adored by many. Life is _good_. You have no right to feel so empty.

You give a single-shouldered shrug, anyway.

His hand tightens around yours, fingers idly stroking the ring on your fourth finger before there's a soft set of lips pressing against it.

"Vitya, please talk to me. I don't like seeing you like this."

Which is exactly why you try to hide it. Today was an off day.

_I don't really feel like talking._

"I'm just tired," you say instead.

Tired of being awake. Tired of feeling so empty even when you have everything you could ever want on a silver platter. Tired of not knowing how to get out. Tired of existing. Just tired.

Yuuri squeezes your hand one more time before he rises to his feet and makes to leave the room. Part of you wishes you never let him go, because you need him like you need oxygen and you want him to come back, to see through this mask like he has all the others because you don't know _how_ to say what's on your mind when there's nothing, but he has this gift or sixth sense or _something_ for reading you even when you're trying to hide and not having to explain it just makes it all so much easier to deal with.

There's more activity in the kitchen. It's unfair for you to make him put his life on hold just because you're not sure what to do with yours.

Footsteps enter the room again shortly after, one human followed by paws. You're met face to face with Makkachin, who rests his chin on the bed in front of you and whines softly.

The mattress dips behind you with the added weight of another person. "Breakfast is in the fridge, if you want anything later," he murmurs.

Yuuri settles above the sheets behind you, doesn't say anything further, doesn't need to. A gentle hand trails from your shoulder down your arm, then back up again before it slides across your chest down to your stomach. There's warmth pressing into your back and arms and legs curled around you to hold you close and you're surrounded by Yuuri's warmth and scent and it's exactly what you need. The touch of warm flesh and the possessive nature of the embrace used to be so suffocating, once upon a time; now, your body welcomes the sensations as he tightens his hold on you. Lips press against the nape of your neck and one hand moves to run his fingers through your hair. It's enough pull you back to the surface.

And you remember how to breathe.


	2. freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri wakes up and nothing feels quite right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dissociating is a trip, y'all.

Yuuri kept his eyes fixated on a distantly familiar ceiling and body rim rod straight and stiff against a too-soft mattress underneath him. It felt like forever had passed before it finally caught up to him that it was still dark. He didn't dare move to check the time; practice was scheduled in the morning and he _should_ be sleeping.  
  
Instead, he lied wide awake in the middle of some apartment laden with a dizzying sense of déjà vu. Nothing stirred him. He was just... _awake_. Like someone had switched places with him in the middle of the night.  
    
(There was this inkling in the back of his mind that reminded him that he was at home, in his and his fiancé's apartment where they've been living together for the past month, on his half of their bed sandwiched between a fluffy warm body to one side and another, less fluffy but equally warm body softly snoring to the other.)  
  
(It still didn't feel _right_.)  
  
A tightness weighed down on his ribcage and his arms moved on their own accord, reaching for the ceiling, for nothing in particular. His fingers trembled, fighting with himself to regain control over his limbs and his mind.  
  
They eventually lowered back down to his sides, but the trembling persisted. Toes curled and uncurled to the rhythm of his too-stable breathing and every muscle in his body felt tense, alert (it was a weird thought, knowing that this was still _his_ body even if it felt like it wasn't).  
  
He became painfully conscious of the need to breathe, suddenly inhaling one deep breath to kick start the usually unconscious action.  
  
Low, sleepy grumbles vibrated against his shoulder as the body next to him stirred, rolling over to drape an arm across Yuuri's torso. The weight was comforting despite the tightness already there, and he autonomously rested his own hand upon it, intertwining their fingers together as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  
  
There was a ring on a slender finger of the other hand on his chest, and the soft _clink_ of metal on metal brought attention to the one wrapped around his own.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
Only vaguely aware of what he was doing, his left hand rose and moved to the side to rest upon the other warm body. Fingers wove through soft hair -- fur. Curly, soft fur. A snort and low _'wroof'_. Makkachin.  
  
This hand was his fiancé. Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov. His childhood idol -- fiancé -- asleep and curled up next to him.

Bit by bit, the fog began to clear as the rest of the pieces fell into place, pieces of information he was always aware of but struggled to process.  
  
This was their apartment. Their bed. Today was Tuesday, and they had practice in a few hours. They were engaged, and they were set to be wed after the end of the upcoming skating season. He was a professional skater. Figure skating. _Men's_ figure skating. Represented Japan -- were they in Japan?  
  
" _Vy vse v poryadke, dorogoy_?" Viktor mumbled only half-coherent in the midst of sleep, shifting followed by a heavy sigh. The phrase sounded familiar and he knew what it meant but he couldn't for the life of him remember where he had heard it before or why he could understand it.  
  
( _That's right_ , they were in Russia. He moved to St. Petersburg.)  
   
He realized a moment later that his grip on Viktor's hand had tightened, nails absently digging into his skin.  
  
" _Da_ ," Yuuri breathed (when did he forget how to?), and his grip on Viktor's hand loosened. He felt the other man relax next to him as his thumb tenderly rubbed Viktor's, and the room was quiet save for his steady breathing.  
  
Time remained frozen even as the darkness in their bedroom faded into the early morning light. He realized how heavy his eyes really were right as Viktor roused from his sleep, pecking his cheek and leaving his side to head towards their bathroom. Slowly, seamlessly, he came back down to Earth, back into his own body, as he moved through the motions of a typical morning -- brush teeth, protein shake for breakfast, get ready for a run.  
  
It still didn't fit quite right, like someone else was wearing his life just prior. But he knew, realistically, this would pass. It always did.  
  
Viktor held the front door open, and somewhere far away Yuuri wondered if he could tell when his fiancé was just a stranger wearing his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Vy vse v poryadke, dorogoy?" - Are you all right, dear?


	3. skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri opens up. Viktor learns from past mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explore some of Yuuri's fluidity with his gender expressed in-canon. There are some really lovely trans!Yuuri fics out there and I enjoy reading how other people share their experiences, so I wanted to contribute and kind of present my own. I identify as non-binary and more on the masculine side of the spectrum (the specific term I use is 'androgyne'), and I don't see a lot of NB!Yuuri maintaining a significant portion of his masculinity or androgyny (though I could have easily missed it). Gender is such an abstract thing and there's so many different ways of how one can choose to present.

For not the first time, Yuuri surveyed his own body in the bathroom mirror with intent; for not the first time, he was perturbed by what he saw in his reflection.

He refused to focus on just one aspect of his face, his body still flushed and wet from the hot shower, opting instead to take it all in at once to get the bigger picture. Objectively speaking, he supposed, there wasn't anything _wrong_ with his body; he was still in prime physical shape from the skating season despite it ending about two weeks ago, muscles still lean and prominent, posture upright and proper, any lingering bruises now faded to an almost fleshy hue. Honestly, anyone would tell him he was the envy of all men, he was in such good shape and perfectly proportioned in his features. His stomach churned all the same.

A hand rose to gently stroke the tip of his middle finger against his eyebrows ( ~~_too full_ ~~ ), letting gravity and flow guide his hand down the side of his face and along the sharp angle of his ( ~~_too wide_ ~~ ) jaw until his thumb happened to brush against the slightest fuzz on the underside of his chin, and his breath caught in his throat for the briefest of seconds. _That_ was new.

A single drop of water happened to catch his eye as it trailed down from his collarbone and along his pectoral muscle until it was pulled down between his breasts ( ~~_pecs_ ~~ ) and that was what did it. With a sharp exhale he pulled himself away from the mirror and continued to dry himself off as he quick-footed back to their bedroom.  
  
He hastily dressed in his loungewear of boxer briefs, his favorite college sweatpants that were baggy and thick and _way_ too long and covered all but his toes, and a dark blue shirt with a poodle sewn on the front pocket a fan had given him this past season (he'd had to hide it from Viktor so it wouldn't wind up stolen). The shirt was a perfect fit for his body type; it was snug against his chest and perfectly accentuated those pectoral muscles and the flatness of his stomach. He loved it. He really did.

It was too snug. Too perfect a fit. Viktor was humming something as he worked in the kitchen. A lump grew in his throat.

He dug through the closet for one of Viktor's sweaters, and when he found himself swimming in the oversized wool he found himself able to breathe again.

***

Viktor's cheerful ' _I'm home!_ ' from the front door didn't deter Yuuri's attention from the TV. He spent the morning curled up on his designated side of the sofa, knees up to his chest and finger idly sliding back-and-forth across the rim of the mug of hot tea in his hands, quietly repeating to himself what the newscasters were saying, and that was exactly where Viktor found him still after returning home from the market with Makkachin in tow.

"Good morning, my darling."

Yuuri startled slightly when Viktor bent over the back of the couch and kissed his cheek. He quickly calmed, however, and even leaned in a little against Viktor's face to lightly nudge Viktor's head with his own. "Hey."

Makkachin bounded up to take his spot next to Yuuri and curled up against his lap for pets. Viktor made an indignified squawk at their dog's rudeness and got a tail happily wagging in response. Yuuri heard his dramatic grumbling from the kitchen as he put the groceries away, spouting off nonsense about how ' _ungrateful children are these days, I feed you and bathe you and pamper you and share my fiancé's snuggles and you have the absolute_ **_nerve_** '. Naturally, the dog's tail only wagged even faster at hearing the light lilt in his owner's voice (deep down, Yuuri knew that Makkachin actually understood every word and was rather pleased with himself, the brat).

"Poor, poor Vitya. Makka, is there any way you could apologize for being rude to your papa?" Yuuri cooed down at him as he scratched behind his ears with one hand. Makkachin snorted. "He says he's not sorry."

"I did not raise you like this, Makka," Viktor lightly scolded from the kitchen.

The familiar sound of biscuits shaking in a box had Makkachin shooting right up, peeking over the back of the couch to see-- yes, Papa did have biscuits! Yuuri had to hold his tea up and away from the poodle as he booked it and bounded over the back of the couch in a surprising bit of agility for Makkachin's old doggie age.  
  
"What would you like for lunch, darling?" Viktor asked after cooing at their dog for a good two minutes, winning him over with scratches behind his ears and on his belly and that spot on his rump right at the base of his tail. Yuuri pursed his lips.  
  
"Mmmm, I'm not really hungry right now."  
  
His fiancé looked up at him incredulously, never ceasing his pampering of their pup. "Are you sure? You hardly touched breakfast this morning." Yuuri just shrugged and settled back into the couch. Makkachin whined when the scratches slowed, then stopped. "Yuuri, are you feeling alright?"  
  
_Not really._ "Yeah, 'm fine."  
  
He tried really hard to ignore Viktor quietly ordering Makkachin to _'go to bed, Makka'_ , footsteps moving around in the kitchen once again, the sound of a heavy coat rumpling as it's hung up by the door. He tried even harder to ignore Viktor taking his spot next to him on the couch; when the television was suddenly turned off and he felt Viktor's expectant gaze boring into him, he knew he had nowhere to hide. Viktor sighed softly, and he gently pried Yuuri's tea mug from his hands to set it on the coffee table in front of them.  
  
"Yuuri, please talk to me. "  
  
After living together for coming up to two years, they came to better understand how the other worked through their anxieties and worries; Viktor learned not to coddle Yuuri so he didn't risk suffocating him with his smothering and making things even worse, and Yuuri made better attempts to be more open about what was on his mind. _Meet each other half-way_ , was what they agreed on. They weren't perfect by any means, but there was progress.  
  
Yuuri slumped a little in his seat. Viktor deserved to know.  
  
“It’s like,” he struggled to find the words both to explain it and to explain it in _English_. “Like, sometimes I don’t... _feel_ like a man?”  
  
“Do you feel like a woman, then?” Viktor offered a little _too_ quickly. Yuuri scrunched his face and teeter-tottered his head back and forth in a vague kind-of-but-not-quite fashion.  
  
“Not a _woman_ , but, like...not totally a guy. It’s like,” Yuuri spoke slowly. “Sometimes, I’m fine with my body and the parts I was born with. But sometimes...I wish I didn’t have... _anything_? Like a-- whatdoyoucallit, a-a Barbie doll? And I know it's not natural but--” Viktor hummed in acknowledgment and pursed his lips as he tried to process the information. When he suddenly pulled out his phone and began browsing through an app, Yuuri bit his lower lip and fiddled with the bottom of his sweater in nerves. “Is...isn't that weird?”  
  
“What?” Viktor’s gaze shot back to Yuuri with a confused look. “No, not at all! Lots of people feel what you’re feeling. I, uh…” When Viktor looked away, brows furrowed and inner turmoil written plain as day on his face, Yuuri raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for his fiancé's thought to finish. “I actually used to see someone like that. Going through what you are now, I mean.”  
  
Oh?  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes. I wasn’t sure how...appropriate it would’ve been talking to _my fiancé_ about past lovers. But, if it’s okay--”  
  
“Vitya, it’s fine. I’m with you now, and if you think it’ll help, I won’t get upset or uncomfortable.” Just to solidify his statement, Yuuri leaned a bit closer towards Viktor and placed one hand on his, squeezing a little. Viktor chuckled sheepishly in response.  
  
“Alright, well, just before the end of my Juniors, I was with someone who also felt conflicted with their body. We enjoyed each other’s company and I’d like to think we were good to each other, but deep down, I could tell they weren’t happy.” He glanced down to the phone in his other hand, thumb idly gliding back and forth over the bottom of the screen. “I tried talking to them about it and, at first, they avoided the subject. Then, the more I pushed it, the more they started avoiding _me_. It, heh, actually took me a couple weeks to figure out that at that point we were essentially broken up.”  
  
“That’s terrible…I’m so sorry, Vitya.” Yuuri’s grip on his hand tightened. Viktor only laughed lightly.  
  
“No, no, don’t be! I was young and terribly ignorant. Anyway, I just let them know that whatever it was, they could talk to me; I mean, we were still friends, right?” He sighed and leaned back against the couch. “It took some time, but we started talking again, and that’s when they told me they were having second thoughts about who they were as a person. Questioning the body they were born with and how others see them. I just didn't--...I _couldn't_ understand.  
   
“It’s funny, actually, how they said almost the exact same thing back then that you did earlier, about not feeling like a man.” Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand in return. Somewhere in their bedroom Makkachin snorted in his sleep. “...It’s like déjà vu.”  
  
Viktor looked over wearily at Yuuri, and they sat there staring at each other for what felt like an eternity before Viktor uttered a hushed _‘come here’_ and gently pulled Yuuri flush against him. Yuuri snuggled into Viktor’s side as an arm draped over his shoulders. Things between them were quiet for another moment before, “They told me that being seen as my ‘boyfriend’ was killing them. I don’t want to make the same mistake with you, _solnyshko_.”  
  
Yuuri didn't know what to say. So he buried his face into Viktor's shoulder, instead.  
  
"How long have you been feeling like this?"  
  
_How long?_ Yuuri shrugged. "I...guess forever? It wasn't something I really thought too much about until _Eros_ last year."  
  
Viktor hummed.  
  
"...That...actually makes a bit more sense, now that I think about it," Yuuri muttered into Viktor's shirt. "How easy it was to slip into that sort of mindset. It just kinda, I dunno, clicked? I felt comfortable in that role, more than I did going day-by-day."  
  
"You'd be surprised how often people say that. At least, from what I've heard."  
  
Another silence hung between them.  
  
"Is there..." Yuuri perked up look at Viktor. "...anything in particular you'd rather have me refer to you as?"  
  
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Like what?"  
  
"Like, 'partner' or 'spouse' instead of 'husband', or 'lover' instead of 'boyfriend'...?" Viktor chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Like I said, I don't want to make the same mistake with you that I did with my ex. So...please tell me pronouns, titles, everything. Anything you would prefer. I may mess up now and then, but I want to give you that basic respect. You deserve at least that much."  
  
There was a slight pressure in Yuuri's eyes that he didn't register until the tears were streaming hot down his face and he was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. God, what did he ever do to deserve this man?  
  
He couldn't help but laugh as Viktor tried to wipe away those tears, grinning with him. Makkachin must have heard the commotion because the next thing either of them knew, he was climbing all over them and pawing at them with a low whine.  
  
"I need to learn to stop making you cry," Viktor chuckled bashfully, idly petting their pup's head as he settled down across both of their laps. Yuuri clicked his tongue to the back of his front teeth, playfully chastising. He watched as his fiancé appeared to suddenly realize something before he unlocked his phone's screen and returned to the app he was on before.  
  
"Whatcha looking at?" Yuuri inquired with a small smile, leaning over to rest his head on Viktor's shoulder. When Viktor made no attempt to hide his phone, Yuuri peeked down to the screen and saw he was browsing someone's profile on Instagram.  
  
"I was looking for my friend's profile. I wanted to show you something," Viktor responded.  
  
"The one you were telling me about?"  
  
"Mhmm." Viktor made a little ' _aha_ ' noise when he found the post he was looking for. There was the image of a young woman standing in front of the Coliseum, slim in her white sundress and white sunhat that perfectly complimented her long sun-kissed blonde hair blowing in the wind; what really caught his attention, however, was the caption below the image.

  
_♥ 10,758 likes_  
_celebrating 3 years! Mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto_  
_#life #lgbt #3yearsonestrogen_  
 

"You said earlier that you felt what you were feeling was not natural. I wanted to show you that it doesn't matter what you or anyone else thinks is natural, because what's important is that you are happy." Yuuri felt Viktor lay his head on top of his, tilting slightly to leave a peck on his forehead. "Doesn't she look happy?"  
  
"She's beautiful," Yuuri breathed. Viktor smiled into his hair. Makkachin's tail _thump_ 'd against the back of the couch.  
  
"I'm really glad you told me, _solnyshko_. Just let me know what I can do to make you happy. All you need to do is ask."  
  
Yuuri grinned against Viktor's shoulder, and for the first time, it felt like the storm in his head was finally beginning to clear. "You, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note: I finished this at work and work was a nightmare so I worry this chapter may have suffered a bit. Happy holidays! orz)
> 
> I decided not to describe Viktor's ex's physical appearance aside from her hair because I didn't want to add to the stereotype that trans women look manly, or that she perfectly passes and that's what's needed to be considered a woman. I believe what's important isn't what you look like but whether or not you're happy with yourself because that happiness will make you radiate from the inside out. Of course, that's just my own personal opinion as these things vary from person to person.
> 
> The Italian caption translates to "eat well, laugh often, love much".
> 
> Although here Yuuri is considered non-binary (actual identities have not yet been discussed here), I feel like he would stick with he/him/his as pronouns and not particularly care about how he's referred to in terms of his relationships with others.
> 
> From my own personal experience, the more I learned about what I was feeling and came to accept it, I felt a little less at-war with myself. I don't feel like it could have been properly conveyed in just this one chapter, so expect a part 2 to this specific topic.


End file.
